Just Impossible
by planet p
Summary: AU; Miss Parker is feeling vengeful and unpleasantness ensues. Sometimes, staying cool is... just impossible. Then there's the monsters, who aren't quite as scary as they think. Too bad for them, really...


Parker made a face and glared down at her watch, then turned a glare on Sydney, who was sitting beside her. "Hit me! What's happening in your world? I'm dead bored and my... well, you really don't want to know that."

"Nothing. Nothing is happening, if you must know."

"I must," she replied, with a moan. She took a sip of her bottled water and grinned. "Mmm, d'you know what would be perfect?"

"No."

"Revenge fic!" She looked around wildly but Broots was occupied, typing away on his laptop with a serious-looking frown going on.

"I'm assuming this revenge you're talking about is directed at Jarod," Sydney commented.

"Hell yeah! And certain other unsavoury persons we know," she replied, glancing at her brother with a snicker.

"Oh, God!" Sydney moaned. "I don't want to know. No, don't say any more. Please, don't!"

She poked her tongue out at him. "Ugh! Syd! I don't have an account on Cherry's Website. Mr Anonymous totally has to post it for me. Aw, please!"

He shook his head mutely.

"I promise it's het."

"Promises, promises."

"I mean it. Like Jarod would even break a sweat if... Ew! Even my sensibilities object to that, Sydney, and you know me – curious lack of and all. It'll totally be Russell and Creep."

"Somehow, that does not console me, Miss Parker."

"Jarod deserves it. Giving us the run-arounds like it's nobody's business. I hope he gets nightmares!" she added, with wide, manic eyes.

"Yes, I can believe that."

"So, can you post it for me?"

"Ask Cherry for an account on her Site yourself," Sydney replied. "I'm totally okay running around after Jarod. It's a job, isn't it?"

"Traitor," Parker sniffed. "Just wait for it, Syd, I'll totally write one about you and the Daughter of Nash. See how T-Corp likes you then." She snickered deviously.

"Pff! You'll only be embarrassing yourself, Miss Parker," he told her.

"So? So what if I do? Bet some of the nurses will give you funny looks afterwards."

"It doesn't bother me."

"You say that now..."

"I would never write anything concerning your brother and the Russell girl, so it's a failed venture before it's even got started. Everyone's going to know I didn't write it."

"And you're a bazillion times more sophisticated, I suppose," she returned.

"You said it, not me."

She sighed. "Fine. Okay. I see your point. But what if I want to randomly kill Courtland?"

"Who doesn't want to randomly kill Courtland?" Sydney asked casually.

Parker snorted. "Lyle... Probably." She laughed. "I'm so not saying that out loud!"

"No." Sydney didn't much want to hear what was so funny, in any case.

She went on laughing for a minute. "Tell me I'm not just imagining things. You've totally seen the cutesy eyes Marcia is forever making at my so-called brother?"

"Totally."

"See, it's not such a stretch to think they're in some creepy ménage a trois club together."

"Except Lyle would probably _willingly_ give his gun to Russell and _beg_ her to shoot him dead before that happened, but yes, you're absolutely right, it's not such a big stretch of the imagination, if you have a slightly warped imagination like you do."

She flashed him a grin. "Like he'd even have to beg."

"Yeah. Yeah, he would. She's Jarod's sister. She wouldn't just be happy with Bam, bam, you're dead! He killed her brother, remember?"

"I remember. Wanker. Had to waste the cute one. Ugh!"

"Which is wholly beside the point."

Parker sighed heavily. "Ha! That'll teach him to hand his reports in on time." She snickered again.

Sydney picked up her water bottle and passed it to her. "Dehydration can do funny things to you, Parker."

She shot him a dirty look. "Courtland rousting me out because that _imbecile_ can't hand his report in on time can do funny things to me, too!" she growled darkly.

"Well maybe you should talk to him about it," Sydney suggested. "Rather than getting up in my face about it..." He pointed in Lyle's direction.

"Uh-hah!" She laughed witheringly. "That's just what the creep wants, Sydney. Thinks it's super adorable when I get pissed and seriously feel like murdering him!" she growled. "I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction."

Sydney sighed. "Honesty is the best policy, Miss Parker."

"Stuff honesty!" she scowled.

"You're in charge," Sydney replied finally. "It's up to you what you want to do, in the end."

She nodded darkly. "Yes, it is."

"Wah-hoo!"

"Was that sarcasm, Sydney?"

"Nooo. No." He laughed.

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm watching you, boy."

"Naturally."

Parker scowled. "I am not kidding."

"Not at all."

"Argh!" She crossed her arms and looked away from him, then stood up and walked off over to her brother, glaring at him. "Oi, you shit. You better hand in your paperwork on time this week or there'll be big trouble."

"Excuse me? Were you just talking to me or..." he glanced around him suspiciously. "Nope, I don't see any five year olds. Define 'big trouble'?"

"Go to Hell!"

"Boring."

She snickered. "I'll buddy up to Marcia."

"Random and slightly disconcerting, but what that's got to do with me, I fail to see, sis. Sorry."

"I'll tell her you totally want her."

"Marcia? Ooo, ahh. Scary. Ah, and I'll tell her you're a compulsive liar."

"You're the compulsive liar!" Parker snapped.

"Um, so are you."

"Eff you! So what? You're worse than I am."

"Ah, dah. Totally worse. Or should I say, better?"

"Or should I say, _deader_!" she mocked sweetly.

"Tell me you're not going through this whole necro phase, 'cause... slightly creepy, sis."

"That's your purview, not mine, freak!"

"I know, right!" He laughed. "Or you'll what? Marcia doesn't scare me. In the _slightest_! You'll sic the FBI onto me." He rolled his eyes. "So scary."

"Homeland Security!"

"For what, exactly?"

"For being an alien creep!"

"Wow! I'm sure they'll believe you too, sis. Like, yeah!"

"I'll think of something," she growled.

He sighed. "Fine, I'll see what I can do. But just so you know, I never hand my reports in late, Courtland just wants everything 'Asap'. The stuck-up, little..." He smiled at her suddenly. "You were saying, sis?"

"I feel contaminated," she muttered darkly. Ugh! She hated Courtland like the plague, but Lyle wasn't supposed to hate the guy, too. It was way too twin moment for her liking, it kinda turned her stomach. "You'd totally get with Russell if she'd let you, right? To piss Jarod off?"

"Never in a million years," he replied casually. "Not even to annoy Jarod." He grinned. "I'd get with his Mom. She's spunky!"

Parker put her hands over her face and moaned. "You, boy – sick in the head!"

"Aw, don't be so ageist, sis!" he replied good-naturedly.

"I am not ageist, that is just freaky wrong! Why are you so obsessed with that woman, anyway? Just because she's Jarod's mother. I mean, _probably_ his mother. Who even says that's true. Get over it already! It's sickening! Argh! I'm not writing that. It's Russell or nothing."

"Can I have Sims, instead?"

"I am puking right now!" she replied darkly. "And no, you cannot have Dr. Sims. He's the opposite of spunky, dipstick! Why would you want him?"

"Why would I want Russell?"

"Grow some bloody imagination, would you! It would totally kill Jarod! Figuratively-speaking, twit!"

"I know what you meant."

"Oh, wow, _finally_!"

"So why are you writing about Russell and I?"

"Shut up! It's revenge!"

"Revenge?"

"Like you _didn't_ say, the company want him alive. I can't _kill_ him, as much as I'd like to. Doesn't mean I can't mess with his head a bit."

"So why can't I be with Margaret?"

"Because I'd rather shoot myself with my own gun than write that!" she snapped.

"What about Sims and Magaret? Or, hey, Courtland?"

"Sicko!"

He laughed. "It's funny, sis!"

"It's so not funny," she replied darkly.

"Well me and Russell isn't funny, either. It's ill-inducing."

"Goodie, goodie!"

"Don't you dare!"

She smiled at him cutely.

"Sis!" he whined.

She shook her head. "Parkers aren't known for their extraordinary mercy, remember. Suck it up, you little baby. Now tell me a good nickname. I want it to sound authentic."

"Like, piss off. Why don't you Sim it, if you're so good," he told her morosely.

"Because I don't _want_ to. Pay up, twin." She snapped her fingers. "What's a good nickname?"

"I don't know. Lois. Seems appropriate, don't you think? Pain-in-the-ass reporter chick."

"Lois is outdated, and it has no finesse. Aren't you, like, sophisticated?"

"Sorry, Russell scared it away. It's hiding out in Antarctica or on some other planet, for all I know. Gone, kaput, fled the scene."

"What about Carrot?"

"I'm not French, sis. Besides, Carrot? Pumpkin would probably be better."

"Mmm-mm. She's totally a Carrot. Slim!"

"She has curves." He shook his head at the amused look Parker was shooting him. "Can't we just call her Get Outta My Life and be done with it?"

"Nope!"

He moaned painfully and frowned. "Okay, well, Mary. You know, like in that song about that missing, possibly dead chick from Nebraska. You know the one." He hummed the start of the song. "Or Mary of the 'unnerving, surprisingly creepy and unpleasantly psychedelic' scene. Mary, Mary. Not ugly, not pretty. A woman, and plain. Oh, the possibilities. The sparkly, happy _bleh_! Mary with a bit of gumption. 'I like this place. It's great.'" He smiled. "No? No. That was... someone else. Right, right, her... Anyway, what do you think?"

"It's not really catchy. The readers aren't going to get whatever blah you just rattled off. _I_ don't get it, so how am I going to express it in a way _they_'ll understand?"

"I dunno. You could try using your super fantastic Pretender skills," he suggested.

"Nah. Come on, pick something else."

"Cupcake. Always a winner."

"I could not picture you calling anyone Cupcake," she replied. "Ever."

He smiled at her and punched her arm playfully. "What's bakin', cupcake?"

"Surprisingly unfunny!" she returned sarcastically.

"Really?"

"Fuckin' eh – _really_!"

He sighed heavily, looking away to a point somewhere between where he was sitting now and the closest wall, as though he was staring into thin air, though Parker had a feeling he was actually trying to conjure up a useful image of the woman to inspire some pointers. "Braids?"

"She doesn't wear braids, genius."

"Maybe she would, if she had someone to wear them for."

"Do you see the colour slowly leeching out of my face?" she asked. "It means I'm gonna puke on you in a minute. Braids are _not_ sexy!"

"No, but they're totally cute," he replied.

"Can it, Nebraska! They are _not_ cute! Now you're just trying to piss _me_ off! She'd punch you in the bloody face if you called her that. Really, Goddamn it! Something _sexy_!"

"Waikiki?"

"Moron! You've never even been to Waikiki!"

"How would you know?"

She snorted. "I know!"

"I would so call her Lois. Truthfully. It makes sense. She'd get it; she'd get I was taking a jibe at her profession. Cliche or no, it works. Why can't you use Lois?"

"Because it _sucks_!"

"_You_ think it sucks. I don't. Berry, then. Or... Tigger!"

"Tigger – you _idiot_?" She stared at him as though he was mad.

"Tigger's orange. And likes to go gallivanting around places on sheer whim alone. That is Russell Girl to a 'T'."

"Tigger doesn't gallivant; Tigger _bounces_! Besides, don't you think you're a little old for children's books or references there to, Lyle?"

"No."

"_Bounces_!" she repeated emphatically.

"Russell has stuff that bounces, too."

Parker gagged. "Men!"

"What? You said be honest. I happen to find that sort of thing very sexy. So sue me, I'm a guy. What am I supposed to do? Run off screaming in the opposite direction? Not even Jarod's that out-of-touch. Let's not get onto Mira. Who knows what Mirage is or isn't? He's not really the chatty type, as I hear it. To anyone, not just women."

"Oh, shut up, and stop insulting my brother," Parker snapped. "Fine, you wanna go with Tigger, we'll go with Tigger. But don't blame me if you get bashed with the frying pan."

"Huh?"

"Russell, with a frying pan. You said she needs to get a bit of gumption. I'd say that was getting some gumption alright, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, right, but we're supposed to be an item. She wouldn't bonk me on the head with some skillet, she _loves_ me."

"Nobody could love you. You're unlovable, freak. Don't even delude yourself; it's unhealthy. Waaaay unhealthy!"

"It's just a story, sis. Why can't she love me in some story?"

"Is this before or after you smacked her over the head with the frying pan? Several times."

He stared at her for a couple of moments, frowning. "What? Why the obsession with bonking people over the head with frypans?"

"Stop saying that bloody word, it's pissing me off!" she snapped.

"What word? Frypan?"

"Bonking?" she growled. "You don't bonk people on the head, idiot, you conk them on the head. Bonking is something else entirely!"

"You can still-"

She pointed at him sharply, a deathly glint in her eyes. "Not in front of me!" she snapped angrily.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"What's your favourite colour?"

"On Tigger? Mmm...?"

"No, not on _Tigger_, you tosser. In _general_!"

"Dark red, I think that'd look nice on Tiggy." He smiled, picturing that. "Laundry, cleaning, shopping. Jeez, Louise. 'You just care about the aesthetics. What about the issues?'"

"You've got issues, alright," Parker agreed.

"Hmm? She's a good girl, not complicated at all. Red's a good colour for her. Honest, don't you think?"

"In Nature, red stands for danger," Parker replied darkly.

"Well, yes, perhaps. But it also signifies passion. Honesty of feeling. That's Russell, right? If she's pissed at you, she'll get this angry little look on her face and you'll think, 'Bingo! She's not really happy. Kinda grr, actually. Best not to draw undue attention to the unattractively overpriced knives today, one thinks. Okay, so maybe they were worth it. Oh, golly, still with the glower. My goodness she's persistent'." He frowned. "Right? That's totally her?"

"I don't know. I wasn't the one stalking her? Is it 'totally her'?"

He shrugged. "Probably. Sounds about right. It was a long time ago. Years, even. How am I – not really, honestly a Pretender – expected to remember that far back?"

"Take notes, you loser."

"Right, so what if I lost my notes?"

"Don't lose them, loser."

He sighed. "She likes strawberry. Strawberry milkshake; coffee, but no milk, just, you know, black. And watermelon. She's not big on ice-cream, she prefers gelat...o. Melon, if they have, but not watermelon. Picky, picky, picky. No sugar, with the coffee. With... not with... her coffee. Yeah."

"You're making it up as you go along," Parker accused.

"No. No, I remember shit. I have a memory, occasionally. For instance, Payton, of the Dead Girls tribe, liked hazelnut. She wasn't a big fan of those T-shirts, the ones with the slogans on them, you know. I guess she just didn't think it very classy, was all. She liked her hair. I remember things, thank you. Payton Iakawa. An outgoing, bright young woman. Much loved by all those who knew her, she will be... Strangely, they don't mention Ginny. Not like that. 'Loved'. They don't say she was loved by anyone. What's tonic without gin? It's boring, it's bland. Ginny was her best friend, Ginny was worth something. Why does nobody mention Ginny? She wasn't naturally confident like Payton. She wanted to be more confident and make friends, so she tried to make herself seem cool so people would be more inclined to... to..."

Parker waved a hand in front of his face, looking annoyed. "Hey, La La! Snap out of it! I could shoot you on principle alone. You don't go telling people you murdered those girls. You just don't!"

He blinked a couple of times, returning from his thoughts. "No. No. I shouldn't – I _don't_ – go telling people. Any people. Any people. We have to come up with a believable premise for your story."

Parker shook her head. "Forget it. I'll do it myself. Just... go back to La La Land and space out, you weirdo." She shrugged her shoulders, walking off back to the seat she'd been sitting in a while ago, beside Sydney. "He's really messed up," she told Sydney. "He thinks Lois is the height of witty. Ugh! Get a clue, loser! I can't believe women actually look at him twice. He might be cute, in another universe, but he's dumb shit stupid. It's impossible that we're related, you know. Just impossible."

She looked down at her ruined high heels and refrained from sniffing. Her legs were tired and crampy and she was tired and she just wanted to go home to wallow in her _continued_ failure alone, with a bottle of vodka, but that wasn't happening. Heck, if for no other reason, she owed Jarod a little payback for dragging her out here and them pissing off and leaving her to haul herself back home for _four_ hours on this lame jet. It was _killing_ her! Maybe she should have just gone to sleep or something, but she'd been too wired after chasing Jarod halfway through town and then losing him, so now she felt really crappy and she couldn't even get sloshed on vodka because she still had to go into work and talk to her unhappy boss, who'd pick up on the sloshedness Asap and get even more unhappy on her now very numb ass.

Maybe Jarod wistfully imagined that she had a ball, gallivanting around the country looking for him, but that wasn't the reality of it at all. Or maybe he expressly meant for her _not_ to have a ball? Maybe everything he did, from start to finish, was about pissing _her_ off?

She was totally going to write that story, she decided – the creepier, the better – and she'd be crossing her fingers, hoping it pissed _him_ off. He deserved it, the git!

And people actually thought Raines was an asshole. The truth was irrefutable, Raines was an asshole, but Jarod could pull off a pretty good imitation when he wanted.

She closed her eyes and hummed that ridiculous song Lyle had been blathering on about, wondering just exactly what his deal with Jarod's mother was. She knew he'd been lying when he said he wanted to get with her. He didn't want to get with her, he just had some creepily messed-up affection for her. They probably had never even met and he still felt some stupid, spooky connection with her. She was Jarod's mother and he still _had_ a mother, so that was woop-de-doo, super-dooper, awesome. It was probably some crazy Empath thing, she decided, but it still intrigued her, because what if it wasn't just that? What if it was one of his Catherine things, because Catherine and Margaret had planned to rescue the Centre kids together? What if it was because of that? And what did it mean, what did it signify? Had Catherine felt the same way about Margaret? Had she been all: she's a good person, honest and _real_? Like he'd said about Emily. She was a good person. How the Hell would he even know what that was when he was so far from – and always had been – that it probably wouldn't have even made sense if he'd looked the definition up in the dictionary, Oxford or otherwise? What would he know?

She was getting antsy now, she noticed. It annoyed her. She couldn't stop the questions buzzing around in her head. She kept wanting to open her eyes and sit up, go and pester the freak about some made-up crap again. She actually _liked_ imagining he could be a normal person, and that was wrong, that freaked her out. Big time!

She noticed how he'd avoided telling her his favourite colour, but then he'd come back with a colour he'd thought would look good on Emily. That didn't seem right, for his MO. Then again, he'd never go for Russell, in honesty. Never in a million years, hadn't he said? He wouldn't go for her because she wasn't his type, and she wouldn't look good wearing his favourite colour, and it was all about him, always about him, with the girls. They were _his_ girls. The moment he set eyes on them, they ceased being their own person and became _his_. It was all very fucked-up, she thought.

Poor Ginny, apparently unlovable like her loser twin, she thought. She could see how that would annoy him, but then, it shouldn't have. But then, it should have. He didn't go for the unlovable ones; he always went for the ones who were everything he wasn't, everything he _wanted_. Funny, easygoing, _loveable_. But Ginny hadn't been any of those things. She'd worried about things, she'd been worried she wouldn't be funny enough, or clever enough, that people would blink and forget her. Much too much like him, in other words. And he couldn't remember why he'd gone for her? But...?

She opened her eyes, frowning. Ginny was first. They always said that. The first to go. Then Payton. Because... because... Why? Because the real prize had been Payton, and Ginny had been silly and unfunny and not at all loveable, and Ginny, in all of her unlovableness, had ruined things with Payton. Because, as unlovable as she'd been, _Payton_ had loved her. Not him, her. Stupid, ugly, not funny Ginny. It had been okay pushing Ginny aside, making sure she was out of the way, up until the point that Payton had lost it, and then it hadn't been okay anymore, and neither had Payton, so he'd had to let her go, too, even though he really hadn't wanted to. She'd been contaminated by Ginny's black magic, messed up. She'd tricked him into thinking she was something she wasn't, and even though he'd wanted very much to blame Ginny for this, to retaliate against her, he hadn't, because Ginny hadn't done that. She'd tried to do it, yes, to lie about who she was inside, but she hadn't quite pulled it off. So he'd left her alone, dead, hadn't tried to mutilate her anymore, and he'd focussed his attention on Payton, the lying, traitorous temptress.

Strange things to remember about a person you thought you were in love with, she thought. A person you were so enamoured with, at that moment, that they may as well have been a goddess and so high above you it was painful. She liked her hair, but not those T-shirts, because they weren't classy. With Payton it was _she_ thinks, but with Emily it was _I_ think.

Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe Emily didn't get a say because she wasn't a real person until after she was dead, until after she'd been of use to him. Parker didn't know why she was even thinking about all of this, but it had suddenly struck her as imperative to her mission. If she wanted to get to know her character – who, in this case, happened to be a real person, whom she very much _hated_ – then she'd have to put some effort in, some thought.

"That isn't the sort of thing you sensationalise. You don't make up some story about it because then it seems trivial, it seems as though you've somehow lessened the meaning of it by translating actions and emotions into words on a page. You may be able to connect with other people and help them to see something they hadn't given a whole lot of thought to beforehand, but for you, who've thought about it and thought about it and actually _lived_ it – nothing can seem to do it justice. That's one side of it. The other, I'd think, is that putting a thing into words can make it seem all too real, too final, for some people. If they put it into words, if they state everything then and there, then it has to be true, and if they later change their mind about the way they felt at the time, upon further reflection, or about the life lesson they took from it, that isn't how the story goes so it's not allowed. People will hold them to it and say 'no, no, that isn't how it went'. _They_'ll hold themselves to it. See, it isn't some story someone heard, it's _your_ life. It doesn't begin on page one and end at The End. It doesn't end after you finish telling it. It goes on. It means so many different things at so many different stages of your life. You understand, no?"

"I guess it's like that, yeah, but it's also a privacy thing. But you're right, people are... they're really afraid of being taken to mean something other than what they mean. I mean, so many people were drawing so many negative connotations about Harry Potter, when they read it, that it wasn't even funny. It wasn't about occultism or any of that, black magic, it wasn't about that, it was about loyalty and friendship and uniting in a common goal for the good of all, but people saw what they wanted to see. So I see what you mean for that point of view. People are suspicious of how anything they say or write is going to be taken, the implications and connotation and all of it. I get that. Yeah. But sometimes, you just have to speak up. You just have to, you know!"

"There should be peaceful avenues to state your mind, yes, but there are not always peaceful avenues, so then, when it comes to that point, the point where you _just have to speak up_, there's someone there pushing your hand, telling you which path to go down, and it's not the _right_ path, it's only the _only_ path. They're always trying to take you down and make you look bad for speaking up, by leaving you no alternative for when you do, but to do something that you... that is probably not the right thing. Yes, it was different. Years ago, it was different. People had a voice, now they have this slow, simmering anger. They don't have a voice so much as resentment and anger and hatred, and it gets in the way of the other things, too, the good feelings, too. You're always thinking, in the back of your mind, 'But I don't really count. I don't have a voice. I could just do anything to be noticed, to be real, and I don't care what – just anything!' Some people care, some people really don't, but even if you do, there is no room for caring. If you _want_ to care, there is no room for it. We need to bring back the room, the avenues.

"The future is not cut and dried, we need to have options. More options, not less options. You don't learn by being controlled your whole life, by being locked away from reality and the world. You don't discover the truth of things that way. It is only when you choose to shut yourself away from it all that you may benefit from exclusion, when you've been through all of that stuff beforehand and you've got all this stuff to think back on and properly analyse. I mean, I'm assuming that's how it goes. There has to be a little bit of exposure, an action, to warrant a reaction."

"That makes sense."

"I didn't... I didn't go to any of those rallies."

"No, I didn't either. I just sat back and let things happen a lot of the time and hoped for the best, I guess. I let it just... roll over me." Broots laughed. "Mind you, that's exactly what it did, in a choice couple of instances. _Roll_ over me. Squish. Bleh." He nodded. "I bet you anything Alicia did. She'd have gone to those rallies. She'd have said we shouldn't be perpetuating this ideal that war is the solve-all to everything. That violence can pave the way to something more than submission, a new kind of freedom. It doesn't. It's very simple. If you're stronger, you win. But winning, winning isn't all neat and clean like people tend to think. We might have won any number of wars, but the sentiment, the sentiment, is what does the most damage. Not the sentiment that we bandy around and tell ourselves is the goal in all of this organised brutality – We'll fight for what's good – but the feeling inside. Wars end, but our feelings don't. They live on, and depending on our outlook on life, they feed other feelings in a whole heap of ways, and we pass on those feelings and sentiments to our children in our behaviour and our attitudes. We don't pass on the whole Fighting for the good of all! creed, because the war's over. Our lives go on. The struggle goes on. Our kids will have their own wars, they'll never experience ours. They didn't learn anything from our experiences, we did, and what did we pass along. Did we pass along all of the goodness that came out of conflict and heartache, or did we pass along something else, something gloomy and depressing and saddening?" He gestured a hand. "Did we give our children the scope to see beyond our depression, our shortcomings, and see a better tomorrow for _all_? Did we really?

"What did _I_ pass along to my daughter? Hmm? Good question. I should really get down to asking her, but then I'd be bringing it all up and there's so much unpleasant crap I'd rather just leave in the past. When it comes up in Debbie's future, she'll see for herself how it goes. The best way to learn is to experience a thing, right?

"What if she wants to talk to me about it? I'd like to think I'd sit down and talk about it, but what do I know about her situation, and what would she know about mine? Things were so different back then, everything has changed.

"We find excuses, we don't like to bring up the past. Let it go, it's gone. We can barely even look ourselves in the mirror, when we have to. Good or bad, it's gone now, and we're not far off. It kills us, slowly but surely. We have to... to be more open, I think. More tolerant and open, more willing to share, not just give and take – you have that, it's yours, I don't want it back; now what are you gonna give me? – but share. You can't live in the present until you've gotten through the past, first. _Lived_ through it. Acknowledged it, in the very least. Given it meaning and taken something meaningful from it, then moved forward. You don't move back. Your attitude may revert back, but you've been through all you've been through, no doubts about it. You can't scrub out the past and say it never happened. Why are you all making such a big fuss about this when nobody had any rights to say jack in the past? Well, guess what, we _did_! And we should now, too. Always. We _always_ should. It's not just the policy-makers who live in this world, it's all of us. And we have to live with ourselves at the end of the day just as much as they do, as individuals and as a group of people, as a species, you know."

He nodded. "We do need avenues."

"Can we change the topic, please?" Parker cut in. "Or, shit, let's start a fight. Who wants me to punch them? Any takers? I don't feel like talking about this shit right now, so piss off elsewhere or zip it."

"What avenues do we have working for the Centre, Miss Parker?" Broots asked, and she scowled at him.

"This is a fucking company jet, Broots! We don't discuss this shit on company time." She glared at Lyle. He was the one leading Broots on; it was _always_ him. He was such an idiot, living in his own little world where the company was so wonderful and the answer to all his prayers. The idiot! "How many times do I have to say it, you-" She pressed her hands to her face in frustration and sighed, wincing, then lowered them again. "Do you want to die? No? Then _shut it_!"

"Jeez, Miss P., we're talking about protesting. What are you talking about?"

She glared at Broots. "You're not _just_ talking about protesting!"

He frowned. "Nobody _just_ talks about anything," he replied.

"Well you'd better fucking learn to, hadn't you? The weather, the Game, women – I don't care what! Are you listening to me? Shit that nobody can take offence to. Bloody Hell!" She pointed at Lyle angrily. "You, hick boy, stop inciting him!"

"I didn't-"

"Yes you did! You _are_!" she growled.

"I didn't say anything. When other people were, young people like me, where was I, what was I saying? Nothing."

"So nothing's fucking changed. Shut it!"

"No. I should have. If... if... The..."

"Pipe down, Empath!" she growled. "You're not a fucking Oracle! You're getting ahead of yourself, jerk. You're just a common bloody Empath. Face up to reality for once in your life. You're not special, you're just one person among _billions_. Nothing you have to say is ever going to make a jot of difference on the future!"

"One more is still one more."

"Nobody wants you. Not now, not ever. And nobody would have wanted you then, either! You're an idiot and you're extremely self-centred and you can't even relate to other people meaningfully unless you're fucking _murdering_ them!" She glared at him angrily, her eyes dark, him looking all I-beg-to-differ and sort of snooty and she ready to grab him and punch him, and then he just sort of dropped the look and glanced at Broots casually and said, "Marcia's not all that bad. As far as they go, she's not the brightest match in the box, but she works, and she's got to be used to listening when she's told something. She wouldn't be a bad bet, I'm thinking. She's not," he frowned, "hideous! You think she'd give me a shot if I asked her out?"

Broots scratched his collar and frowned. "She's the Chairman's personal assistant. Don't you think certain people might take the wrong idea out of that?"

"Stuff 'em. Let them. If it makes them happy, what do I care?"

"I guess. Maybe she'd say 'yeah, why not?'. I don't know. I haven't really heard a lot about her. She's still fairly mysterious, you know. She's young, successful, good-looking. I guess you two have stuff in common. Not the age thing, but hey, age is just a number, right? I don't think she has anyone. I don't know about interesting, though. She seems fairly bland, to me. But that's just me. Why? Can't you Read her?"

"I could, I guess, but it's not exactly the etiquette, if you catch my meaning."

"She wouldn't know."

"You'd be surprised."

"Yeah?"

Lyle shrugged. "Besides, it takes all the fun out of it. I want to get to know a person, not some neat, little set of statistics. Robots, not what I'd call cute. They don't interest me, I'm afraid." He smiled. "In any case, not as friends."

"Friends. You don't really want to be Marcia's friend, do you?"

"I want her to think I am, certainly."

Broots nodded. "But you don't want her to be _your_ friend."

"You're right! Gosh, no, that would be an absolute fucking disaster! Shit, that'd be like she was my sister or something. Worse, my fucking mother. Gah! No. No. Not friends. Absolutely not friends. Absolutely not. Hmm. I guess I'll just have to explain that to her, to begin with. Bleh! She'll probably be pissed about that. This is exactly the problem." He glanced at Parker. "You're not like that, sis. Say, do you have any similarly-minded girlfriends you could point me in the direction of? Just, you know, the ones who are hideously, _hideously_ not my type. I wouldn't want to accidentally... Well, you don't have a whole lot of friends. I could say one less isn't going to hurt, but I'm thinking, in your case, it might just."

"I don't have girlfriends," Parker growled.

He laughed. "Do you think you could get some?"

"Go to Hell!"

"As charming as ever, I see."

"Kill yourself, freak!"

He sighed. "Hmm... Maybe you're right."

"About what?" Broots asked, with a frown.

"You leave too much shit to chance and everything hits the fan. In a _bad_ way. Nine out of ten times, it's best to know beforehand which way the wind is blowing. No, it's not creepy, or bland as Hell, it's being _informed_. Joy!" He glanced at Broots silently.

"You know, Parker's right," Broots told him. "You do tend to... 'get ahead of yourself' is the wrong term. Okay, listen, here's what I think: getting to know a person isn't just a two-step process. You never _stop_ getting to know a person, in reality, just like you never stop getting to know yourself. There's the stuff you already know, but put you in a situation you've never been in before, and a whole heap of new stuff crops up. So as long as you don't _want_ it to be boring, it's not gonna get boring."

"Ew, yay!"

Broots sighed. Apparently Lyle wasn't enthused with that idea, either. Broots was starting to wonder if he even knew what he wanted, himself. It seemed entirely plausible that he didn't. Thought he did, but had no flippin' idea.

"Why can't I think stuff is wrong?" Lyle asked Parker suddenly. "Why, because you're trying so hard to pretend everything's bloody fine, I'd upset your little cart and that would just be such a big disas-"

Parker leapt up out of her chair and lunged at him, grabbing him by the front of his clothes and glaring at him with too-wide eyes. "Shut up!"

"Take your pills, sis," he replied distastefully. "You're really starting to lose it."

The loud smack as she slapped him made Broots flinch, but Sydney merely stood up and walked over, stepping between them as Lyle glared at Parker then started to smile creepily. She'd definitely gone too far this time.

"Sit down, all of you," Sydney told them calmly. "You won't be impressing anyone by starting a fight. Not me, not Broots, not the Chairman. Sit down and cool off."

Lyle laughed and Parker glared at him furiously. She only turned around and went back to her seat when Sydney turned to her and gestured in that direction, indicating that she should go before him, and she still didn't wipe the angry look off her face.

"You girl," Lyle whispered. "You bloody girl! You accuse Jarod of being kept, but you're so Goddamn _tame_, it's _laughable_! Typical. Oh, it's all above board when you're running your mouth and inciting other people, but when it comes time to act, to fucking _do something_, you suddenly remember you're not like that, and you were just talking rubbish and God forbid you should break a nail! You're not a woman, you're a bratty little _girl_!"

"Hey!"

"Fuck off, Broots!"

"Fuck off yourself. Stop antagonising her. She _will_ go you."

Lyle laughed. "She hasn't got the guts."

"Oh yes she has!" Broots replied seriously. "And you don't want to push her, so back off."

"You fuckin' back off! I can take care of myself!"

Broots stepped forward and gave him a hard shove backwards, eliciting a glare and a low, animalistic growl. "Come on," Broots told him. "You wanna go me, Reaper? Hmm? Go on, I'm not stopping you." He shoved him again. "Go me, you idiot!"

"You're the idiot," Lyle told him, in a growl, still with his Reaper voice, then he turned and stalked off, apparently disinterested in starting any trouble with Broots.

Sydney shook his head at Broots, meeting his eye, but Broots ignored him and walked off to find a seat away from the lot of them. Far away.

The sound of sobbing unnerved Parker. She knew who it was, knew it was someone who had no right to even cry, and wasn't Brown supposed to be adjusting his meds so this sort of thing didn't happen? But maybe he'd deliberately not taken his pills, just to be a massive pain-in-the-ass. The sound still irked her. It irked Sydney. She could tell without even looking at him, it really got to him, annoyed him. It was his vibes. The way they suddenly screamed Uncomfortable!

She was glad Broots didn't go and try to console him, as he usually did; not glad that the ridiculous sobbing went on and on, but that Broots was finally waking up to the fact that the loser didn't deserve anyone caring about him, for Hell's sake. He wasn't a _real_ human being. He was a crappy imitation.

He'd given up being a real human being the day he'd killed Jimmy, and then again, when he'd killed Payton and Ginny. And he'd gone on that way, on and on, just like his pathetic sobbing. Shooting him dead would be too kind an act, he deserved to _suffer_, and as she didn't honestly believe in Hell, there wasn't much chance in her mind that he'd be sent there in the afterlife.

Something else had to be done, had to be devised, but for now, she would just have to suck it up and gloss over this bullshit, pretend she really enjoyed listening to him cry, because she should have, shouldn't she? She really should have. He was a monster. She should have been happy he was hurting in some small, insignificant way. In some flimsy human way.

She should have been, but she wasn't. So she quietly dug deep and Pretended she was. Ever so pleased, she played at.

She didn't know what Syd's problem was, why _he_ wasn't pleased, but he had his own issues. Abandonment issues, issues pertaining to abandonment, to the fact that someone _was_ around but the someone who was around just didn't just two hoots, or was restricted from giving two hoots, which was worse than abandonment, really, which was neglect, and that was very, very bad. Unforgivable bad. She imagined that was Sydney's problem. He hated the sound of crying. It actually compelled him to hurt himself over it, to feel hurt over it.

She felt no such compulsion, just anger and revulsion. Monsters didn't know about pain, not really. They dispensed it, they didn't receive it. What the fuck would they know?

She hummed that ridiculous song in her mind and Pretended all was well with the world, in her little corner of the world, on this jet, all was as it should be, and finally, she honestly believed it, she honestly bought it. This was how it should be. The monster was trying to play them one last time, before going to its doom, was trying to trick them into showing it mercy. It wouldn't work.

It just wouldn't work.

It was a monster, just a monster. Nothing but that, nothing but a monster. It had never treated them as any different to how it treated others of its own kind, and now here it was, expecting them to treat it as one of their own. No, no. That would not happen. It would go out as it had been brought into this world, as a monster, still.

It had earned nothing, learned nothing. It was just a monster.

When they finally arrived back in Blue Cove, the monster had put away its tears and was playing at human again. Parker felt like being ill, but she let it play its little game, knowing one day soon, its time would end, the time of monsters would end. The time of this monster, at the very least.

She would make sure of it. By hither or by to, it would end; it would all come crashing down and the monster would play its last hand, honesty, a futile bid for survival, and it would lose.

She was her mother's legacy, but she played by her own rules. She held no interest in exposing the monsters, in lend them the upper hand or an unhealthy does of glamour, she was their slayer. She wouldn't scrum around in the dirt and shadows, sneakily stealing what she could from them. She would fight and win, and the monsters would fall, one by one. She was Catherine Parker's daughter, she was glorious! (Not some bratty little girl!) She was a Pretender, she was destined for greatness, and what were Empaths and Reapers? She was born to be a leader and they were born to serve. Clearly, she would win out in the end, and they would lose. It was their ultimate fate, their destiny.

At home, she didn't get sloshed on vodka. She thought about her plans with a clear head. She plotted. And in the morning, when she went into work, she didn't even scowl when Lyle came to give her his field report, _on time_. He knew who was in charge, deep down inside, he understood he was just one of so many more, but she was something else. She was one of the ones who would make a difference, in the end. And he didn't really want to die, not just yet, anyway. He was playing nice whilst he could, so she let him lull himself into a false sense of security.

One day, she _would_ end him. It was her destiny, after all, and if she wanted to be great, she had to stick to the rules, she had to check off all the boxes, slay all of the monsters. And what else was there for her in this world, but to meet her destiny head-on? She had no family, no lover, and the little family she had were merely posers, monsters in disguise. There was no point in fighting her destiny any longer, it was the monsters she had to fight.

.

When Parker saw him next, Broots was sitting on a couch in Heathrow Lounge reading _The Way Things Look to Me_ by Roopa Farooki, clearly taking a couple of minutes off for break, and Midori was sitting next to him, reading a romance novel translated into Japanese. A proper little book club, Parker thought, though why Midori would bother wasting her break reading a book with Broots was beyond her. She only had a handful of minutes really, before she had to be back up at the front desk, doing her receptionist thing, and it wasn't as though they were even reading the same book. So not much of a book club, really.

Parker still hadn't gotten around to penning her revenge fic, but it was in the back of her mind, ticking away silently. Sitting in the corner on the floor, away from anyone else, she spotted her so-called brother, creepily chewing on his wrist, blood splattering quietly onto the floor, and she pulled a face. She didn't yell at Broots or Midori, or anyone else, she just started over there and stopped in front of her brother, crouching down in front of him and picking up his wrist, pulling it out of his reach, causing more blood to pour all over the carpet.

He growled at her but she didn't relent and give it back. His teeth were all pointy; clearly they were his Reaper teeth, his chowing-down-on-junk teeth, as he'd done to his wrist.

She suppressed a sigh and stood up, taking his wrist with her, and he stood up, too, obviously keen to reclaim his wrist. She wasn't about to hand it back, though, because she had a fair idea he'd just start chewing on it again, whether out of boredom or because it had been itchy, she had no idea, but she didn't much care, either. She held onto it tightly and walked toward the automatic doors, out into the hall. Broots and Midori were too absorbed in their books to notice anything, and the woman standing at the coffee station making herself a hot drink merely turned pale and remained silent.

Lyle growled at the drinks machine as they passed it because it hummed at them rudely, but she tugged on his arm and led him along after her. She couldn't care less how rude the drinks machine had been, she was pissed, very pissed. The meds Brown had given the freak were supposed to be _helping_ him. He could hardly be trusted to assist with Jarod's retrieval when he might, at a moment's notice, decide to chow on the guy, or on someone else.

When she barged into Brown's office, the guy spun around swiftly and, quickly registering the problem, backed up so quickly he would have taken a spill had he not come up against his desk. He offered a string of cuss words in Welsh and grabbed his phone compulsively, punching in Courtland's number without even looking to see what he'd really dialled.

Lyle was tugging on his hand, trying to get it back off Parker, but she held it closer to her and didn't even care how much blood she got on her. She'd never liked the idea of the crap the Tower shoved down people's throats, and now she had proof. Real, solid proof that it _was_ crap! They'd tried to feed her that garbage once, had fed her it, and her mother, and it had never done either of them any good, just as it hadn't done Jarod or Kyle or Alex any good, just as it hadn't cured Angelo. It was crap, pure and simple.

As he's talking to Courtland, Browns stares at the blood on the floor with increasing worry, and that's when it hits Parker. The woman hadn't been scared of Lyle, she'd been scared of _her_. Lyle was playing his usual Empath games, messing around with people's perceptions. The woman hadn't even seen all the blood, she'd just seen Parker's hard eyes and apparently that had been enough to freak her out. Secretly pleased but also kind of ticked off, Parker scowled at Brown before turning swiftly to face her brother, grabbing his shoulder with a hand and shaking him roughly. "Drop it," she told him firmly, of his glamour, because how was Brown going to do anything about the gaping, blood wound if he couldn't see it, if all he could do was stare at the blood on the floor and taste the horrible bloody tang in the air?

Ignoring her, Lyle reached past her for Brown's jar of sweets with his left hand, but Parker smacked his hand away with a hand of her own and glared at him. "You can have a sweet when Brown's fixed your wrist. Now drop it, or you won't even get that! I'll fucking knock you out and that'll be the end of it."

Growling at her vaguely, she heads Brown's sharp hiss of "Fuck!" and figured Lyle had done as she'd asked and dropped his glamour. Why he'd want a sweet was beyond her. He was diabetic and never ate sweets unless they were Belgian chocolates, and then only because it made him feel closer to their dead mother when he was in a particularly shitty mood because that was exactly the sort of thing she'd do when struck with a similarly shitty mood. Other than those times, he only ever touched sweets when Brown forced them on him, when his diabetes was acting up, or when he had the good sense to notice himself and force himself to eat one or two sugary items.

He made cake and biscuits and other sweet things, but he never ate them himself, they were always for other people, which annoyed her immensely. After all, even Fulton ate the cookies she made for the coffee room up near hers and Sydney's offices, where the ME liked to go and drink coffee on her break sometime, probably because she was hoping to steal Sydney away from Michelle even though they weren't together anymore, though she obviously didn't know this or didn't believe it.

Parker couldn't understand that woman and had no particular urge to, either. Right now, she needed Brown to start disinfecting and stitching or she'd be one Empath short next time she went gallivanting off after Jarod, her interminable pain-in-the-ass.

All the while Brown was cleaning up the mess he'd made of his wrist, Lyle stared up at the ceiling, his head tilted to the side, singing "Half Heaven, Half Heartache" in a generally crazy manner. Parker sung along because she didn't have much to do and she knew it would calm her brother down. She didn't know the words to "Backstage" so she merely listened, and then it was done.

When Courtland arrived, Brown left his office to talk to the Chairman and Parker couldn't help but hear Brown _only slightly_ losing it with his boss in the other room. Lyle didn't stop singing but started to rock back and forth convulsively and Parker touched his hand supportively. He started to sing "(I Wanna) Love My Life Away" and she rolled her eyes, grinning to herself.

The shouting from the other room grew louder and she tried not to flinch, but her smile faltered and it was only that her brother was singing that ridiculous, hilarious song that she didn't get her gun out and stand by the door, waiting for trouble to burst in. She really didn't like shouting, and she didn't like when Brown got angry. He had the sort of vibes that pained a person, and they pained her, badly, even through the bloody _wall_. He was a centuries-old Reaper, it wasn't much of a surprise that he'd mastered the art of forceful vibes, but that didn't mean she could just shake them off. They weren't _meant_ to be shaken off.

She heard Marcia sobbing quietly in the hall, probably pressed to the wall in abject fear, and she just couldn't bring herself to be concerned for the other woman, too concerned about her own welfare, frankly, and then a soft, calming wave washed over her and Marcia stopped crying and not even the sound of Courtland _really_ going off at Brown could touch her calm. Lyle sung a German pop song quietly – something out of the seventies, undoubtably – and Parker waited for Brown to return, to hear what was happening with Lyle's meds.

When Brown came storming back into his office darkly, he didn't even look at Parker. He grabbed Lyle's arm roughly and dragged him to his feet, marching him over to the door and turfing him out. "I am no longer your doctor," he growled, and promptly slammed the door in their faces.

Parker forcefully shook off the calm Lyle had leant her and glared at Courtland. "What is he talking about?" she spat.

Courtland nodded to Lyle and shot Parker a short, annoyed glance. "Run along, Miss Parker," he told her. "This is no business of yours."

"He's my _brother_!" she exploded, reaching for Lyle's hand and hanging onto it so he couldn't go anywhere, much less where Courtland was trying to ferry him off to.

"He is company property, Miss Parker. He is nobody's brother anymore." Parker's eyes flashed with hatred and menacing anger, but Courtland grabbed Lyle's wrist and gave it a sharp shake, prompting Parker to let go of his hand, and gestured behind Lyle, further along the corridor they stood in.

Marcia stepped away from the wall, smiling benignly, and Parker felt distinctly ill.

"Where are you taking my Empath?" she growled.

Courtland paused momentarily to say, calmly, "You will be supplied with a replacement," and then he turned his back on her and walked away.

Parker could have shot him then but she refrained, trying, furiously, to think of some way out of this. "No. No." She shook her head and spun away, fleeing along the corridor. She needed to talk to Raines, she needed to see who owned Lyle, if it was the company, this branch, or if it had actually been her father, Mr. Parker. If it had been James then Lyle belonged to her now. Her father had left Reagan to the care of the branch and not her but Lyle was a different matter completely. He was not a child, he was merely an "asset", a material possession. It was quite possible he belonged to her. That would really stuff Courtland up.

Just knowing she should have paid more attention at the reading of her father's will, she headed for the elevators swiftly. She'd been slightly pissed when she hadn't been left the chairmanship and had tuned out the rest of the lawyer's prattle. Only now did she think she'd made a little mistake in doing so. The Chairman could not take her bloody _brother_!

.

It was a week before the Tower finally accepted that Lyle belonged to her and Courtland had been wrong in commandeering him, but then they just said, "We don't have him any more. You have our deepest apologies, Miss Parker." In other words, Raines informed her, they'd taken what they'd wanted and, _if_ she was lucky, they'd sold what was left to some minor rival group. Parker wasn't very happy about that. She got out her gun and shot Raines's computer to bits, then stomped out of his office and slammed the door after her with as much strength she could muster. Fucking idiot! Raines should have done something, should have saved his stupid Pet from whatever gory fate had awaited him, and Parker could very much imagine just what that gory fate entailed. They'd stolen Noah's upgrades, stolen his monitor, all of it. They'd robbed her of the last vestiges of her _real_ brother left to this world and then they'd thrown away the fake brother as though he was nothing more than old dishwater. A Class _Five_ Empath – old dishwater! Their bloody expert in all things rival – so much garbage! Courtland had to be off his rocker, certifiable!

Planting herself on her desk in her office, she sniffed and glared at her new, spiffy high heels, not so pleased with them anymore. That bloody Courtland, thinking he could fuck up her wager like that! It was supposed to be _her_ catching Jarod, _her_ killing the freak, not _Courtland_ playing funny buggers and fucking the _whole_ deal up! He'd had no right! No bleeding _right_!

It was _my_ monster! she thought angrily. Mine! And Courtland fucking stole it off me! That bastard, that self-righteous _prick_! _My monster!_

She leaned over and picked up her phone, pressing her speed dial number for Raines. "Don't worry about the computer, I'll replace it. Get up here, we need to talk."

"He would not give them anything on us, you can believe that," Raines told her, later. "It was hard enough for me, getting the boy to talk."

"I think you'll find they have their ways," Parker replied darkly.

"I don't think so," Raines returned. "He'd just shut them down."

"And the Class Seven Empaths, the _torture_?"

"Pain is not something Lyle responds to well, unless it is on his own terms," Raines told her. "He wouldn't give them a single thing if that was the way they decided to get it out of him. Just look at the way he allowed his adoptive parents to treat him, and all because _he_ loved them, no matter their feelings towards him."

"Really loved them a lot," Parker agreed darkly. "Framing his father for murder and all."

"He deserved it."

"You deserve it!" Parker hissed.

"Well, perhaps, but Lyle has since learnt that no matter your feelings towards someone else, you've got to have at least an ounce of self-preservation."

"Which is _exactly_ why he'd squeal!" Parker stressed, eyes flashing darkly.

"But then that would be dishonourable," Raines countered. "You forget, he _loves_ you. Do you even understand what that means, to someone as messed-up as he is? You're not just something cute to pass the time, to _kill_ a little time, you're the _real thing_. He certainly couldn't betray you in favour of the Tower, knowing how much regard they've always considered you with, when you're not around to prove that you can take anything the world throws at you and then some. Bobby _believes_ in love!"

"And Lyle isn't Bobby, Raines!"

"Lyle is a successive personality, not an alternate personality, Parker. They're not opposites, they're more similar than you know. He doesn't have Dissociative Identity Disorder, it's merely a survival mechanism, not an illness."

"Multiple Personality Disorder is a survival mechanism also, in its own way," Parker replied.

"We don't call it MPD anymore, Miss Parker."

"Stuff you and your nutty DSM!" she scowled. "I don't care what you call it. What are you saying exactly? The sociopath's only human! Even I would tell them anything they want to know, under the right amount of duress. I wouldn't throw my life away for anyone!"

"Even when your life wouldn't mean a thing without that other anyone?"

"That's insane!"

"And so is Lyle, as you've so aptly pointed out _countless_ times, Miss Parker. You know what Reapers are like, and this one's flipping _insane_. They don't betray those they consider their friends. They're loyal 'til the very end."

Parker snorted. "He's not a _real_ Reaper."

"He's enough of one," Raines assured her.

"Well I don't want him to love me! I certainly don't love him!"

"I don't think he could care less, to be frank," Raines replied. "He needed someone to give him a reason to live and you seemed to fit the bill. Before you came along, I wholly imagine that that someone was Elsie, but he had to leave her, didn't he? Besides, she chose Lyle over him. Her _husband_. And you're not married. You don't belong to anyone. You don't love anyone. Anyone living, anyway. Don't you see how perfect you are?"

"I _hate_ him!"

"And that's okay, because he doesn't hate you."

"That doesn't make sense!"

"It makes perfect sense to him. His mother was completely balmy, if you recall, and wrapped up in a dangerous, obsessive marriage. I'm sure she drummed it into him that with love comes a certain nobility, a certain glamour to whatever sacrifices you have to endure to see that the path of true love runs smoothly. Requited or unrequited, my dear. And whatever pains you encounter, well, they're just further proof. If your love wasn't true, would you ever be able to endure against such odds, such tribulations? Ho-oh, no! You would not. The child is damaged beyond your wildest imagining."

"You mean he's utterly obsessed with me the way his mother was with her crazy hubby?"

"I suppose so, only, he'd call that love."

"That is fucked up!"

"You don't say."

"So why doesn't he try to convince me that I love him, too?"

"Well, I don't think that would be very noble, now, do you? That would be a little too much like coercion for comfort and that isn't what he wants, he wants you to _genuinely_ love him and if it never happens, then at least he stayed true, at least _he_ didn't betray love. Do you see, Parker? Cuckoo."

"He's your son," Parker remarked dryly.

"Well, no, not really. Noah was my son."

"Asshole."

Raines shrugged. "You needn't worry. He won't have betrayed you, nor anyone he deemed important to your happiness. It's me who should be worried, not you. I'm not exactly important to your happiness, I wager."

"Not exactly," she growled, with a wicked grin.

"That's what I thought."

When Raines left, Parker spent a long time staring at her office wall, then she shook her head. Lyle lived her. What utter rubbish! If he loved anyone, it sure wasn't her. She wasn't that stupid. Maybe Raines believed her to have been born yesterday, but she damn well was not. She knew damn well that Lyle didn't do anything for free, didn't give anything away for free, and she'd never given him a damn _single_ thing. Save a glare or two, save hating him, save the odd insult. She'd never given him anything worthwhile to throw his life away for, Reaper or no.

He was a material boy, and even he wasn't that stupid. He would never buy anything that was merely for display, that could be looked at but not touched.

Shit, he'd been willing to _waste_ her to please his Pet Master, creepy Raines. What did that say for all of his famous love for her? A damn lot, she thought. A whole damn lot!

Raines was talking complete nonsense. What was new, then?

.

Walking to her car after work, she bumped into Silvie in the car park, standing by her car with little Jethro on her hip. Parker shook her head and told herself she wouldn't raise her voice to the girl no matter what.

Silvie tilted her head in that annoying manner reminiscent of her father and her eyes looked sad.

"I'm sorry," Parker told her. "For what it's worth, I'd have very much preferred my brother to an official apology by the Tower, but you know the Tower, dear. They labour under the impression they run the world and they expect all of us to labour under that same impression. I _did_ try."

"I understand," Silvie replied unemotionally, then she sighed, looking down at her feet, for a moment, before lifting her chin and meeting Parker's eyes. "Goodnight, Miss Parker," she said. "A pleasant evening to you." Then she turned and walked away, shoes crunching on the parking lot gravel. She met Broots halfway to his car and the pair embraced but Silvie appeared dry-eyed.

Parker didn't stick around to allow Broots the opportunity to haul ass her way to complain, too. She got into her car and drove home in silence.

Stopping on her porch to unlock her front door, she stomped her foot and growled. "They wasted _my monster_!"

"They what?" Ethan asked, opening the front door to let her inside, and her eyes widened and her hand flew to her chest.

"Bloody Hell!" she cursed. "Scare me half to death, why don't you! You're not supposed to be here – it's _dangerous_!"

"You're my sister, babe. Stuff dangerous – are we a family or not?"

She stepped inside and hastily pulled the door closed after her. "We're not the Goddamn Winchesters, Ethan."

"Who?"

"Forget it," she muttered, and led the way to the kitchen. "Anything I can get for you? Something to drink? Coffee?" She stared at the woman sitting at her kitchen table.

"This is Emily," Ethan supplied.

"I bloody well know who she is!" Parker snapped, spinning around and looking around the room quickly.

"It's just us two," Ethan assured her. "I'd have tried to convince Mo to tag along but we're not in contact currently." He shrugged. "So, how's life in the classy state?"

"Fucked up," Parker growled.

"That good?"

"That good," she growled, wondering what was up with Ethan. Why the Hell was he so cheery, all of a sudden? "They turfed my fucking _Empath_ to the kerb without so much as an apologetic misstep! _My_ Empath! My fucking personal property!"

Ethan shook his head. "Don't you worry about that, Parker. He's fine. Well..." He shrugged nonchalantly. "We got some money together, thought we'd buy you a nice belated birthday present."

"Nice?" Emily cut in. "I think _hideous_ is more like the word you're looking for, Ethan. That thing's so far from _nice_ the bleeding _Enterprise_ would struggle to pull off that kind of voyage. Still, I suppose he'd be proud of the scars, were he cognisant enough to be proud of jack. Reaper and all."

Ethan gestured a hand Emily's way. "She said it. He's..." he waved a finger in a circle beside his temple, and made a whistling sound. "No more gone in the head than he's always been, if you ask me. Personally, I find him almost tolerable in this new guise."

Emily rubbed her stomach and stood up. "Charming."

Parker frowned at her, suddenly noticing that the younger woman was pregnant. "You're having a baby?"

Emily frowned back at her and walked backwards, towards the fridge, and nodded finally. "Looks that way, doesn't it."

"That's..."

"Fucked up," Emily supplied. She laughed lightly, turning away to open the fridge. "What do you think, bébé? What looks good for dinner?"

Parker started forward. "You don't have to-"

Emily waved a hand at her, dismissing her words already. "Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how long it's been since I actually set foot in a _real_ kitchen? Baby and I are making dinner, no buts accepted."

"She's not kidding," Ethan told Parker casually, opening the nearest cupboard and taking a look inside.

Parker suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though she'd stepped onto the set of Debbie's favourite TV show, _Supernatural_, and found a bunch of hunters pillaging her kitchen for supplies. Ethan would be Mark, the quiet one, and Emily would be Gwen, the strange one. Or maybe Ethan was Sam, the awkward and slightly unsavoury one when sans a certain important ingredient.

She walked to the living room to pour herself a glass of scotch. She was just downing her second glass when Ethan appeared and leant casually in the doorway.

"We left your monster at the motel," he supplied. "Fingers crossed he doesn't land himself in anything more dangerous than his own drool."

"Did they take Noah's upgrades?" Parker asked, staring down at her empty scotch glass.

"Looks that way," Ethan agreed.

Parker set her glass down with a little Chink! "Would you mind bringing him here?"

"He kinda makes Em's skin crawl, and... I've got to be honest, mine too."

"I'd like to ask him a few questions, so, if you'd be so inclined..." Parker waved a hand at the door, scowling at her younger brother. She didn't mean to, she wasn't angry at him, she just felt so bloody uncomfortable it was coming out on her face and in her words, anyway it could. For some strange reason, her mind told her, though he was her brother, Ethan wasn't on her team, and crazily, it also told her Lyle _was_, and that really was intolerable. Just because they'd worked together at Hell One didn't mean shit, she retorted vehemently. Lyle was not her friend, he wasn't even her brother. And Ethan was!

Before she could stick her foot in her mouth any further, she stalked out of the room and decided to make herself useful by helping "Em" with the dinner, or just watching her silently.

.

When Ethan returned, Parker had to physically restrain herself from leaping to her feet. She could hear Ethan walking up the hall, could hear her heart pounding like crazy, but she was just having a mystifying Cathy moment, she told herself. It wasn't Ethan she wanted to run to and throw her arms around, and it should have been. This person, this imposter – this monster – was not her brother, not her little brother, not her twin. She should not have been pleased that he was back, or worried how he was, yet, mystifyingly, she was. She wasn't even frightened that she was, just mystified, slightly confused. A part of her thought maybe it was him, maybe it was his Empathy, and he was Projecting this feeling on her, but it felt... it felt like all her.

Suddenly, she understood what Ethan meant. Her skin felt a bit crawly, actually. So she forced herself to stand slowly and turn around, to refrain from any sudden movements, but even she wasn't quite ready for the vacant expression in Lyle's eyes. It just wasn't very him. In fact, a part of her couldn't associate this strange person with the person she'd once known, as if they weren't _really_ the same person at all.

Then, maybe they weren't. The part of Lyle that had also been a part of her real brother, the part of him that had once been a part of Noah, was gone now. He wasn't the same person he'd been before, and it was absurdly, suddenly blindingly evident.

She didn't know this person with the empty eyes. Not at all.

Ethan met her eyes and nodded to Lyle as if to say, What, not what you'd been expecting?

In silent defiance, Parker stepped closer and raised a hand slowly to touch Lyle's arm, slowly curling her fingers around his wrist. She didn't feel anything, just warmth. Nothing familiar, nothing to indicate they'd ever known each other. The sensation was awkward and baffling. She had expected a slightly painful thrill of something dangerous and forbidden – you shouldn't be pretending he's your real brother now that you know damn well he isn't – but there was nothing like that. Strangely, she felt let down. She didn't even feel the tiniest bit wicked for touching him when he was so obsessed with her and he'd probably only construe her touch as encouragement, for encouraging his illness.

She felt nothing.

She stepped closer and let go of his wrist. She touched his face instead, grazing her knuckle lightly along his cheek. He just went on staring at her blankly. She took back her hand and stepped back from him, glancing worriedly at Ethan, who reached out to trace the scar on the side of Lyle's head. "Scrambled, is my best guess," Ethan replied, to her unspoken query.

Emily walked over silently and took Lyle's hand, leading him over to the table and taking out a seat for him. "Sit," she told him blankly, and flitted away once more.

"According to Em, he's still human," Ethan muttered, leaning closer to Parker. "She thinks we should treat him with decency. Don't ask me what that's about, I wouldn't have the first clue. Maybe it's just that she's a mom now."

"Not quite a mom," Parker corrected him.

Ethan frowned, for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Yeah, she's got another one. This one's gonna be Number Two. A little boy. Name's Hubertus. This new one, she calls it Aretha. I guess she thinks this one'll be a girl. Or hopes so, anyhow."

"Look how messy this is." Emily had pulled out a chair beside Lyle's and was trying to restore some sense of neatness to his scruffy hair. "Ethan, you should have brushed his hair. The messiness is making me itchy."

"Don't be so OCD," Ethan replied, walking over and taking her hand and placing it in her lap. "You are not his mother. Catherine is dead. Leave him be."

Emily frowned and caressed her belly absently. "You really don't know anything about soldier's etiquette, do you, Ethan?"

"Should I? That thing is not a soldier, and neither are you. _Dad_ was in the Air Force."

"Lyle was too, before he was discharged."

Ethan snorted. "Discharged?"

"Not healthy enough. Besides, I wasn't referring to the military, Ethan. You know he was an operative with that company. A Level Seven, if I remember correctly."

"Tower scum!"

"He didn't work for the Tower, Ethan, he worked for Blue Cove. You know that. He happened to believe he was born there. At least he may have believed it. He was an L7 but he wasn't Tower." She gestured to Miss Parker. "Did you know he was an L7?"

"Nope. Never heard that," Parker replied darkly. "Last I heard, he was an L5. Primary, for a while there, but he gave that up when he went back to Tech Space."

"He occasionally played ball with the Tower, but he didn't work for them, Ethan. What do you call it? Interdepartmental liaison. He interdepartmentally liaised with them." She laughed. "They ordered Catherine's _death_, Ethan! What sort of self-respecting son would work with the people who'd ordered his mother's death?"

"Catherine wasn't his mother!" Ethan growled angrily.

"I know that. But she was... she _was_ Noah's mother, and he had the little boy's upgrades, didn't he?"

"Beside the point, Em."

"Empaths are funny things, Ethan," Emily told him. "Have a little respect. If not for Lyle, then for yourself, for what you are, for that crazy anomaly inside you. You're not a monster, Ethan, you don't have to play the part when there's no call for it. This one's done. There's no competition, no expectant eyes. Relax, brother."

Ethan glared at her but just laughed.

"I thought he made your skin crawl," Parker said.

"A lot of things make my skin crawl, that doesn't mean I can cry ignorant to all of them," Emily replied. She stood up and walked back to the stove.

Parker stood watching her silently and when Emily reached over to adjust one of the settings on the stove, she felt a strange lurching in her stomach at the sight of the small sun tattoo on the inside of Emily's right wrist. Her best friend had had a tattoo just like that; her best friend had been a solider, just as she had.

"_...when I can never, never, never go home again?_"

"Aretha doesn't want to hear some ditsy love song," Ethan spoke up, walking to the sink and pouring himself a glass of water.

"It's not ditsy," Emily told him, and pointed to the table. "Your brother might want something to drink."

"He's not my brother!" Ethan growled, in a low voice.

"Your sister's belated birthday present might want something to drink," Emily amended, rolling her eyes.

Ethan snorted. "You are so in love with the freak," he muttered darkly.

"I am so no such thing," Emily returned calmly, walking to the cupboard to fetch plates. "_I'm gonna be strong, and stand as tall as I can!_"

Ethan shook his head, placing a glass of water down heavily on the table in front of Lyle. He snorted. Yeah, as usual, the weirdo wasn't remotely interested.

Parker sat down in the chair Emily had vacated and narrowed her eyes. "Lyle?" She leaned forward a little, trying to catch his eye. "Lyle?"

"Don't bother," Ethan told her. "I tried getting through to him, nothing works. Not that I see the point, mind you. I think I like him better like that. He can't hurt anyone, can he? Can't fuck people over with gleeful, malicious ease? What's not to love?"

Parker silenced him with a wave of her hand, frowning some more and trying again to catch Lyle's eye. "Bobby?"

Ethan snorted and shook his head.

"Robert Joseph!" Parker shook her head too. "This is pointless. If he has a bloody safe word, I'm never going to... fuckin' figure it out. He's nuts! How am I supposed to work with this?"

"Who's asking you to?" Ethan returned.

"I am, you idiot!" Parker scowled. "He could have sold us all out, you bloody-" She shook her head, glaring at him. After a moment, she sighed and dropped the glare. "You're not an idiot, Ethan, I'm just an impatient bitch sometimes. But you have to understand, we could all be in a Hell of a lot of trouble right now. You, me, Em, Jarod, Ge- Mo, I think you said his name was now; Margaret, the Major. Hell, even Zoe. Is Zoe still running with your crowd?"

Emily shook her head silently.

Parker frowned. Right, she'd forgotten about Emily's kid, Ethan's nephew. "Emily's son! Does that make sense, Ethan? Empaths are _not_ funny. They're no feckin' joke. They're dangerous! The shit they know, half of the time, they don't even _know_ they know it themselves. It's crazy messed-up crap, Ethan. But if they're... He is a Class Five; the Tower has Sevens. Clearly, despite what Raines bloody says, one way or the other, he's out Empathed in that playground. And they'll have wanted to know things, as much as they could get their mucky hands on. About Noah, about all of us. Jarod, you, me, _everything_! They only ever want everything." She laughed. "And that doesn't strike you as a problem?"

"Doesn't mean we can do anything about it," Ethan replied. "He's fried toast right now. What are you gonna do about that, sister? You gonna Heal him, are you? I somehow don't think so."

"Leave that for now," Emily interrupted, placing two plates down on the table. "You can get back to it after dinner. You still need to eat." She handed Parker a knife and fork.

Parker was halfway through her dinner when Lyle suddenly lurched closer and grabbed the knife up and leapt out of his chair, pelting away from the table. It was all a bit quick for Parker to do much about it, but she jumped up and stalked after Lyle, noting the ridiculous wide-eyed look he was fixing her with, as though she was actually quite scary, but he didn't point the knife at her, he just kept backing off with that stupid, frightened look.

Finally, he managed to find a handful of words and string a sentence together. "Don't come any c-closer!"

Parker stopped. Okay, this definitely wasn't Lyle. Lyle was an adult and whoever this was sounded like a kid. Bobby then, she decided. "Talk to me, Bobby. What do you intend on doing with that knife?"

"If you t-touch me..." His eyes welled with tears and he couldn't quite get the rest of that thought out.

"I'm not going to touch you, stupid."

"It's _my_ body!"

"I understand."

The knife slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. He stooped quickly to retrieve it and backed away some more, his eyes wide, wide.

"I'm not going to touch you," Parker assured him, noticing how Lyle's eyes went to Ethan and the amused expression he was sporting. She laughed. "Gee, Bobby, just who do you think we are here? We're friends, son. Friends. We're not going to hurt you, so you might as well put that knife down. There's no need for it. And Emily is pregnant. You don't want to upset her, do you? It could be bad for the baby."

"It's my body!" Lyle repeated, half pleadingly.

"And I heard you," she told him. "I'm not interested in your body. None of us are interested in your body, Bobby. We're not in the business of bonking people over the head and stealing their organs, it might surprise you to know."

He put the knife down on the floor and backed off some more, his eyes never leaving her for even an instant as though he couldn't quite bring himself to trust her.

Parker walked over quickly and retrieved the knife. "Seriously, Lyle, sometimes you really are- What? Oh shit! Right, that's your father's name."

Lyle made a little whiny noise behind the shaking hand pressed to his mouth and sunk to the floor.

Emily stood up swiftly and stepped around the table, passing right by Parker and kneeling down on the floor in front of him. "Your father is not here, Bobby, and you needn't be worried that we'll tell him where you are. We know he's a bad person. He's not setting foot in this house, believe me. If he even tried..." She shook her head seriously. "It's not going to happen, darlin'."

Lyle grabbed her wrist and stared at her sun tattoo.

Emily winced, but finally looked down at her wrist too, thinking better of looking at him with anything like sympathy or sadness. It wouldn't console him, wouldn't convince him she was a friend, it would only upset him further.

He looked up into her eyes finally. "It's quiet," he whispered. "It's so quiet!"

"I know, honey."

He stared into thin air for a moment, the tears in his eyes very, very shiny.

"It's okay," Emily told him quietly, but he didn't listen to her, the beginnings of panic appearing in his eyes.

"It was mine!"

"It's okay," Emily repeated, tears appearing in her own eyes now.

"I need it! You don't understand! I _need_ it! I really, really need it!"

"Your sister's okay now," Emily told him tearfully. "You don't need it. She's _okay_, Bobby."

Lyle sniffed, wiping his eye with a hand. "How do you know?" he asked her.

"She's standing behind me, baby. She's all grown up now. Go on, take a look." Her voice wobbled. "Look at her, she's... okay." Emily dropped her eyes from his and stared at her lap, determined not to cry.

Lyle looked at Parker for a moment, then he frowned, returning his attention to Emily. "If she is okay, why are you sad?"

"I'm just a silly girl."

"S-s-silly. No you're not. You're not silly. I can tell you're not silly. You're nice."

Emily sniffed. "I'm a silly, silly girl."

Lyle tilted his head to the side and leant closer to catch her eye. "It's okay," he told her gently.

"Alright," Parker interrupted, "that's enough of that." She strode over and placed a hand on Emily's shoulder, indicating that she'd like to talk to her brother without her sad, teary eyes stealing the show. "I'll take it from here, Em."

Emily stood up slowly, wiping a hand over her cheek where a tear had fallen. "Don't touch him."

Though Emily's tone hadn't been forceful, quite the contrary, Parker was momentarily taken aback. "Excuse me?" she demanded.

Emily turned abruptly and stepped right close to Parker, leaning close, close, closer to whisper in her ear. "He's not frightened you'll try to steal his spleen, Melody, he was-"

Parker's eyes snapped open suddenly and she realised she'd fallen asleep. At the table. Someone had moved her plate out of the way, to the centre of the table. No. She hadn't fallen asleep, she'd been drugged. A silent scowl worked its way onto her face as she looked around the kitchen, taking in the fact that Ethan and Emily were nowhere to be seen, though they'd left the monster. He was sitting in the chair next to hers, staring at nothing really.

"Oh, you _idiot_!" she growled loudly, and got to her feet. Now she _really_ needed a drink!


End file.
